


inhale, exhale

by gaysubtexts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:43:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysubtexts/pseuds/gaysubtexts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn’s father disapproves of his musical career, and liam’s there to kiss it all better. (but not just kiss.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	inhale, exhale

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first ever ziam fic (and 1d fic in general) so don't hate me bc it sucks all right. unbeta'd.

It is apparent from the beginning that Zayn and Liam are polar opposites. Liam is soft, gentle, kind. He thinks before he speaks. He has sound judgment. Zayn is fiery, passionate, wild, untamed. He refuses to be handled or ordered around. He is mysterious. Somewhere along the line though, these little discrepancies deemed themselves useless as they brought themselves closer and closer to one another.

It started slow, subtle. Liam was staying over at Zayn’s for the night as sort of a get together. It was something they always did. Something that allowed them to stay close to one another.

As always, Zayn was having disagreements with his father; disagreements which, year by year, tore their relationship further and further apart, each time shredding the possibility of them ever being how they once were; joyful, happy, carefree. No, Zayn and his father were not all right.

“I don’t see why we’re even bringing it up,” says Zayn, his fingers tightly gripping his fork as him, his parents, and Liam sat around the dinner table. “I thought we agreed that my life is mine, and that includes what I choose to do with it, even if it is something you don’t approve of.”

“Zayn—“ his mother interrupts, worry etched in the creases of her beautiful face. She looks young for her age, but it isobvious that the years of bitterness between her husband and son have taken a toll on her physical appearance. Her skin is much more withered than it should be, her eyes dull, bleak, but still kind.

“No, it doesn’t make sense. We discussed it already, end of story.”

“Not end of story, young man,” says Zayn’s father. He is not cruel or callous or merciless like everyone thinks he is. He has a good heart, but it frequently gets lost in the battle between culture and morals. “You were not raised to want to sing or dance or whatever it is that you do in your silly little group. You were born to be a doctor, or perhaps even a lawyer. Think of all the things you could do with those professions.”

“But I don’t want to do those things, Dad.” Liam looks over to Zayn, sees him cup his face in his hands, exhausted by the perpetuating argument. Zayn can never win, Liam knows this. This is how it’s always been. He and his father could be fighting over spoons and it wouldn’t matter; his father would win.

It takes every ounce of control within Liam’s body not to reach out and touch Zayn’s face, bring him close, tell him everything will be okay. He digs his fingernails into the wooden table to prevent him from doing something he knows he’ll regret. He does not need to add onto the list of problems this family has. He’s seen it all. He knows.

“Well, I won’t have that,” says Zayn’s father, his eyebrow cocked in disapproval. “We’ll go over some other suitable professions, if the ones I’ve already listed aren’t good enough for you or don’t match up to your precious liking. Let me know when you’re ready.”

It’s only seconds later that a loud screech burns everyone’s eardrums as Zayn scoots his chair back with agitation. He does not bother to properly excuse himself (after all, according to his mother, Liam is a proper guest of the house) as he heads straight for the back door, swings it open, and sprints outside.

Liam feels awkward now, uncomfortable. It isn’t the first time he’s witnessed this of course, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult to watch. It is because of Zayn’s dysfunctional family that Liam kisses his mum and dad goodnight, looks after his little sister, thanks God in his heart (and sometimes out loud) for all the good he has. He looks at his plate, the chicken untouched, the rice barely dented, but he doesn’t feel hungry at all.

“Excuse me,” he says, and quietly dismisses himself, putting a gentle hand on Mrs. Malik’s shoulder as he finds his way out. It’s dark outside, the air crisp and cool, the nighttime welcoming him. It smells of trees and grass and all things green, and he can’t help but stand there for a brief moment, taking it all in. He looks around, Zayn nowhere in sight, but it doesn’t matter. He knows where he’ll be.

-

Just up the street fifty meters down a trail, Liam finds Zayn on a bench in front of the lake, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms hugging his knees desperately. He seems calm, unbothered, but he is good at hiding his emotions, having a cool exterior when he feels like it. His eyes are concentrated on the water swaying gently with each breeze that passes by.

He sits himself next to Zayn. At first he doesn’t say anything, and really, he doesn’t have to. Liam’s presence alone has always been a comfort to Zayn, his reassuring tone putting him back in that solid place he wants to be, his nudges and smiles beautiful and calming, placing their effect on Zayn’s fire. Liam doesn’t know the effect he can have.

Liam takes Zayn’s hand, places it in his own, draws circle in his palm with his thumb, once, twice, three times. He plays with his fingers, caresses them, places them to his lips with insurmountable care; it amazes Zayn how he could be so gentle, but he’d never tell him that. Zayn’s mind is swarming with a thousand thoughts a minute, his emotions overwhelming him. He’s felt this way many times before, but somehow he’s still not used to it, the fire of it.

“Hey,” Liam breathes, leaning close into his neck, careful, cautious. He never steps out of bounds, thinks about his every move. He rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder, keeps it there, steady. They stare off into the distance, the picture of nature enough to keep them both silent for a moment, thinking, or not thinking at all.

Zayn bites his lower lip, troubled. He wants to believe that Liam being by his side will make the pain go away, but it doesn’t. It hurts him to think that his father does not support his passion, his dream. His mind is consumed by this thought only. He runs a hand through his hair, tired and frustrated.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that, again,” he mutters.

“’S okay,” says Liam. He lifts his head up off Zayn’s shoulder, looks into his eyes. He could stay like that forever, gazing into that beautiful face; that anxious, impatient, beautiful face. He wonders if he’ll ever look at another person the way he looks at Zayn, and this thought alone scares him. He’s never been one to feel so fiercely about another person, not in a romantic sort of way.

“It’s just… it’s hard… controlling myself around him. I – I don’t know what to do when he targets me like that –“

“Shh,” Liam says. He grabs Zayn by the shoulders, moves farther away on the bench, invites him over. Zayn puts his back towards him and Liam eagerly takes Zayn into his arms, Zayn’s head resting on his chest, safe, secure, okay. It’s only when Zayn is wrapped in Liam’s arms that he feels this way, feels content. He’s not the same when Liam isn’t breathing down his neck or whispering sweet things in his ear or telling him that, yes, everything is going to be okay, just let me hold you. Liam wishes he could always tell Zayn these things, but Zayn is not one for too much cheesiness; it makes him embarrassed, uneasy. Liam has had to pay close attention to what is and isn’t appropriate to say in front of Zayn, and what won’t turn him off.

“It’ll all work out,” says Liam, his lips placing a trail of kisses down Zayn’s ear, eventually finding his neck, leaving his mouth there. Zayn tries to resist the giggles that ensues from being ticklish, but eventually succumbs to it, his laughter echoing in Liam’s ear; the sweetest sound he has ever heard (he swears on it). He never wants to think of a life where Zayn doesn’t play a starring role. It is unimaginable at this point.

They sit there like that for a while, the night saying all the things they don’t have to, its beauty and splendor enough to keep them both satisfied for the time being.

“I wish,” Zayn says, his words contemplative, hesitant, “I wish I could show you.”

Liam looks at the boy lying on his chest, takes note of his black hair gelled out of his face; his eyes sad, heavy.

“Show me what?”

He watches as Zayn plays with his fingers, nervous. Liam’s never seen him this anxious before. He lets his heart soar at the emotion Zayn evokes when they’re together, emotion no one else gets to see, no one else deserves to see. Only for Liam. He’s afraid the beating of his heart will distract Zayn from saying what he feels and tries to hush hush hush it down.

Zayn looks up at him, his long eyelashes glimmering in the moonlight. He whispers, “How much I love you.”

This new revelation weighs down Liam’s chest like a ton of bricks threatening to suffocate him. He feels it so powerful and so strong. The heart he had managed to calm just moments ago suddenly pounds with the force of a thousand beats per second. His face feels hot. He puts a palm to it. Thoughts are swarming inside his head making him dizzy. He wants to physically gasp for air.

Instead, he exhales as silently as he can manage through his mouth, the air fiery and playful.

Zayn continues to look at him, his eyes filled with something Liam can’t quite describe, and he’s always been good at identifying people’s feelings. Of course, Zayn is—and always will be—a different story.

“I love you, Zayn.” And with those words mirrored, everything changes. Zayn lifts himself up off of Liam’s chest and turns so that they are now facing each other. He cups Liam’s face in his hands, brings his face so close, so so close, waits. His thumb rubs circles into Liam’s jaw, caresses it. He absentmindedly licks his lips and Liam watches as it happens, lust naked in his eyes, on his face, in his body. He feels it first in the heat of his palms and then in the pang below his waistline.

Zayn leans forward, forward, forward until their lips meet, hard against soft, fire against ice, tension against lust. Their eyes close, hearts racing, pumping and pumping and pumping. Liam is sure he’s never felt so worked up before. Zayn’s tongue slips its way into Liam’s mouth, his breath hot and sticky, desperate for something it’s never had before. Their mouths unite, become one. Liam’s hand finds Zayn’s face, holds it, places the other hand at the center of Zayn’s back, urging him forward.

Closer.

Liam presses his tongue against Zayn’s teeth, one by one, exploring his mouth.

“Ow,” he gasps, and leans back quickly.

“What is it?” Zayn asks, genuine concern etched in the lines surrounding his mouth.

“Didn’t know your teeth were so goddamn sharp, Malik.” He laughs, pressing his tongue against his own teeth this time, sucking on them. He brings his sleeves to his mouth, removes it, sees red. “Can taste the blood.”

“You should be more careful next time,” Zayn sighs. A small smile spreads across his face as he studies Liam, adores him, admires him from afar. He notices how he shines in the light reflected off the lake. He really shouldn’t think him adorable at a time like this, when his mouth is positioned all funny and his face is contorted so that he looks as if he’s just smelled a couple dozen onions. But Zayn can’t help it; Liam is adorable no matter what he does; it makes Zayn weak at the knees. It’s also one of the reasons he can never stay angry at Liam, or upset, or annoyed. And God knows Liam is too cheesy for his own good, which has resulted in Zayn crinkling up his nose in uneasiness and embarrassment.

But no matter what, Liam weaves his way right back into Zayn’s heart; his distant, cool, closed off heart. There used to be debate on whether or not Zayn did have a heart, but Liam always knew better.

It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed, just now, but it certainly felt like it. The words that so sweetly breathed themselves into the air were now permanently sprawled on their tongues, bent, twisted, carved in place; couldn’t be taken back, nonrefundable, and they knew that. It felt like a new sensation because it was; it was different.

Liam holds his hand out to Zayn, looks him in the eye. “Stay with me.” He breathes it so beautifully, so poetically. There is nothing eloquent about what he’s just uttered but Zayn takes it in, so powerful and so strong. He can’t resist what’s about to happen.

As they step out of the park, Zayn can feel the beats of his heart rising again.

He doesn’t know it, but its rhythm is synchronized perfectly with Liam’s.

-

There’s a soft thump as Liam’s head falls onto his pillow, Zayn quick to hover on top of him, planting kisses on his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone. Liam can smell his cologne (freshly cut grass and spice of some sort) fragrant and strong; a scent Liam had grown accustomed to smelling whenever Zayn was around. He inhales, breathes Zayn in.

When Zayn presses his lips to Liam’s, he keeps them there, nibbles at them, tastes them. Once, twice, three times. Lips still connected, he puts his hands on Liam’s sides, urging him to lean up for just a second, and Liam obeys. Zayn swiftly pulls at his sweater, and in no time Liam’s chest is bare. Zayn runs his fingers against the smooth skin there, up and down, up and down, reveling at Liam’s beauty. The defined cut of his abs was enough to make Zayn hot; he bites his lower lip. It’s impossible for people to shine in the dark, right?

Zayn is quick to find his lips again, and does so with ease. He cups Liam’s face once more. His hand finds the place Liam keeps sacred, tugs at the fabric covering it.

“We can start slow, if you want,” says Zayn, his eyes sincere.

Liam responds by shifting his weight on his elbows to kiss Zayn’s jaw.

In seconds, Liam’s pants as well as his boxers land on the floor, a light thud emanating as they hit the hardwood.

Zayn finds the birthmark on Liam’s neck, kisses it, continues down further and further and further until he gets to Liam’s waist, mapping out exactly what he’s about to do. He had given blowjobs before, of course, but this was different. This was Liam.

He starts slow, soft. His tongue finds its way to the head of Liam’s cock, licks it generously. A gasp comes from the back of Liam’s throat as Zayn encloses his lips around the whole of Liam’s dick and moves up and down, up in down in perfect rhythmic motion. He can feel Liam’s body temperature rise by the minute; his hips shake, threaten to make him come earlier than he wants.

Liam grabs fistfuls of sheets, hangs on for dear life as Zayn continues sucking him off, desperate to make him explode.

Zayn, as if in an attempt to reassure himself, looks up at Liam, grins when he sees him moaning in pleasure, his mouth open, his eyes rolling farther back into his head. He continues until Liam comes in his mouth. With no hesitation he swallows then wipes his chin with the back of his hand, smiles; he is satisfied with what he’s done, the response he’s gotten. Seeing Liam react the way he did leaves him more than satisfied.

Liam’s chest is heaving, heart rapidly beating, beads of sweat rolling down his neck, every pore in his body damp. His eyes are stuck on the ceiling, breath rugged. He glances at Zayn who smiles at him, eyes crinkled, teeth white and gleaming. Liam throws him a half-grin, whispers, “Well done.”

Zayn climbs into bed with him, still fully clothed, and lies there next to him, smiles.

Liam turns to him, “Oh, get over yourself,” but he, too, is smiling.

Zayn studies him, brushes hair out of his face, moves it back. This time Liam is the one to lean in (Zayn usually takes control), places his hands on Zayn’s ribcage, gentle and tender. Zayn has grown so accustomed to Liam’s soft-around-the-edges personality and way of doing things that he’s actually grown to like it, savor it. It’s a new way of doing things, and Zayn likes change. He starts to lift his arms to discard his shirt when Liam interrupts—“Let me”—and does it himself. Liam would usually be embarrassed lying stark naked in front of someone (anyone), but for some reason, a newfound confidence resides within him, and he can’t help but feel amazing at the moment.

Zayn watches in awe as Liam bravely unzips his pants, pulls them down, and then does the same to Zayn’s underwear. He is mesmerized by the fact that Liam—Liam—is comfortable doing this. His mouth sort of hangs open in surprise, but he isn’t complaining. This new side of Liam he’s seeing is wild and carefree and daring, and Zayn revels in that.

Liam finds Zayn’s lips, gnaws hungrily at them, threatening to bite them off it seems (this doesn’t actually happen of course; Liam is much too caring) and refuses to have a second pass where his skin and Zayn’s don’t touch. He is more passionate now than he’s ever been, and it excites him.

He brings his lips to Zayn’s ear, whispers, “My turn,” turns to his nightstand and gets a bottle of lubricant from out of the top drawer. Zayn’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Really?” he asks, unsure. He watches Liam’s face to see if there’s any hesitation.

But there isn’t.

“I…” Liam breathes, “I want it to be you. If—if that’s okay.” Zayn swears Liam’s never looked more beautiful than in this moment, his hair disheveled and his hair sticking up in every direction possible; he is perfect.

Zayn grabs Liam’s chin as his eyes begin to falter, “Of course.” He would never deny Liam, and this newfound revelation scares him a little.

Liam smiles, his eyes squinting as he does; Zayn smiles thinking about how he could pass for a puppy, innocent and compassionate.

Liam grabs the lube and stands at the foot of the bed, gestures for Zayn to come closer. Zayn obeys, eager and ready. He turns over, giving Liam full access to do whatever he wants.

Liam leans into him, whispers, “I hope—I hope it’s okay,” blushes, because he could never do something he was unsure of without vocally stating his feelings.

Time stretches on, so much so that Zayn figures Liam’s having second thoughts and has dropped the entire thing, until he feels Liam enter him, slowly but surely, in and out, further each time. He looks down at his hands to see that his tanned skin has turned a bright shade of pink, his veins poking out.

Each time Liam moves inside him, a moan emerges from the very back of his throat, and then a grunt. Normally he stays silent, not letting the other person know how much he’s enjoying himself, embarrassed, but he can’t help it, not this time. After several moans escape his mouth, he hears Liam’s body react the same way, ravenous, greedy. Liam’s eyes open, close, open close. He swears each time he opens them his room gets brighter and brighter despite the darkness that surrounds them. He wants more than anything to see Zayn’s face.

As if listening to his thoughts, Zayn sits straight on the bed and turns his head. Liam is quick to place kisses wherever possible, desperate to satisfy him.

For his first time, this isn’t so bad.

Moments later, they collapse on the bed, panting. Liam cannot stop the buzzing in his head, the dizziness that threatens to put him in a permanent sleep. After he swears the world’s stopped moving at an accelerated pace, he turns to Zayn who he finds is already looking at him, his eyes gleaming, full of what Liam figures is—adoration?

Liam brushes his fingers across Zayn’s jaw, doesn’t care that Zayn will call him a sap.

But Zayn doesn’t.

Instead, he takes Liam’s hand in his own, kisses it lightly, holds it to his chest. “You’re too good for me,” he sighs, and if Liam didn’t have impeccable hearing, he would’ve missed it.

“Not true,” says Liam as he brushes stray hairs out of Zayn’s face.

“How was it?” Zayns asks, and he looks at Liam with eyes that are more than desperate to hear a good response.

Liam smiles, “It was… good. Very good.”

At this, a smirk emerges on Zayn’s lips. “Just good, eh? Well I’m glad you sort of liked it then.”

For a brief moment neither of them says anything, and really, they don’t have to. It surprises Liam when out of the blue Zayn gives him a contemplative look and then, very smoothly, leans into him, places his head on Liam’s chest, and stays there, inhaling deeply. Zayns can’t help but love that Liam spontaneously smells of honey suckle.

Zayn thinks that if this is what it’s going to be like, even with his father disapproving his every decision, he’d be more than willing to have Liam to lean on, to hold him, to whisper to him corny things that make him smile.

Liam thinks that if this is what it’s going to be like, even with Zayn’s father disapproving his every decision, he’d be more than willing to support him, show him affection, take care of him.

They spend the remainder of the night locked in each other’s arms. Zayn finds comfort in the expanding and contracting of their chests as their breaths emanate throughout the darkness, echoes off the walls.

As they fall into the endless space that is sleep, Zayn can feel the beats of his heart rising again.

He doesn’t know it, but its rhythm is synchronized perfectly with Liam’s.


End file.
